


Seven Eleven

by koganphrancis



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canonical Character Death referenced, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganphrancis/pseuds/koganphrancis
Summary: Not being one to accept what the show's writers try to force on us, I sat down and came up with this.





	

“You _ever_ think about me...when I was in the joint?”

Ian was looking at Mickey's profile, but Mickey wasn't looking at him. He thought about the question, how he thought of Mickey despite trying not to, how every fucking day was a struggle to get through while he was worrying how bad prison had to be, how Ian tried to distract his thoughts with drinking and weed at first, then with letting dudes touch him that made him feel more alone than ever, then finally hanging on to the lifeline that was training to be an EMT and getting a job, but then how that wasn't nowhere near enough even though it was something, so he drifted into another relationship where he just went along, not ever feeling...anything, and meanwhile day by day and then especially at night, ALL he could think of was Mickey. All that flashed through his brain, but in the end he merely replied, “A lot.”

Mickey still didn't look at him, but he let out a sigh that was just this side of a sob.

“Fuck I'm gonna miss you,” Mickey finally said, rolling towards Ian and kissing him softly on the lips.

Ian was concentrating on stubbing out his cigarette in the dirt next to him and the kiss when his brain finally caught up. “What do you mean, you're gonna miss me?”

Mickey pulled back and looked down at Ian in the moonlight. “Ian, you gotta go back...”

“No! No fucking way! Mickey...I don't want...I'm finally with you again, I'm finally me again, of course I'm going with you...”

“Shh,” Mickey soothed. “Stop, listen, you need to go back and get a passport and do this all legally.”

Ian was shaking his head no.

“Ian, listen,” Mickey continued, speaking gently, “think about it. If you enter Mexico legally, you'll be able to get meds there, and get a job, probably. You can just, I don't know, transfer your qualifications or whatever and probably just take a test to be an EMT there. A passport takes, what, a month, month and a half to get? You go back and get that, and I'll find a place and get the lay of the land before you come down there.”

Ian was searching Mickey's eyes in the moonlight. “Why the fuck didn't you tell me all this sooner?”

Mickey bit on his lower lip. “Honestly? I didn't think you'd come with me when I asked,” he admitted.

That stung. Ian knew he deserved to have Mickey doubt him, but it still hurt to hear him say it.

“Ian, I'm sorry I didn't plan far enough ahead with you, but selfishly speaking, I wouldn't give the past two days back for a full pardon and all the money in the world, you know?”

Ian's eyes filled with tears. He felt the same way. Hell, that he was feeling anything was entirely due to Mickey.

“You promise I can come to you as soon as I have a passport?” Ian insisted.

“Of course I promise. I'm counting on it,” Mickey said, lightly grazing Ian's jaw with the side of his hand. Ian lifted his head to kiss Mickey.

“Okay,” Ian said shakily, after breaking the kiss. “You take the money, and tomorrow I'll see that you get across safely, and then I'll get a bus back ho...to Chicago.” He'd never think of Chicago as home again, not while Mickey was someplace else.

“No, I'll drive you to the bus station first, then cross the border on my own,” Mickey said firmly.

“Mickey...”

“Ian,” Mickey said in the same drawn out tone Ian had spoken his name with. “If anyone's looking for me, they're not gonna recognize me in the disguise we bought, but if anyone's looking for you, you stand out like a six foot beacon with a red torch burning on top.”

“We should've bought me a disguise too,” Ian muttered, disappointed.

“Waste of money,” Mickey said practically. “We needed every dime for my bling,” he added, smiling.

Ian sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian. “So, it's our last night for a while...”

“I gotta ask you something first,” Ian said. “Stand up.”

Mickey was puzzled, but did as he was told. Ian stood up too, but just for a second. He fished something out of his front pocket, and then went down on one knee. Mickey looked down at him. “Oh, you wanna blow me first...” the words died on his lips when he saw what Ian was holding. It was a small white cardboard box. Ian took the lid off and sitting inside, on a piece of cotton batting, a plain gold ring caught the moonlight and flashed up at Mickey.

Mickey opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Mickey,” Ian said, his voice steady and his eyes looking straight into Mickey's, “will you marry me?”

Mickey looked around, as if he expected people to leap out from behind the bushes and tumbleweeds and tell him this was all some elaborate prank.

“Marry...?”

“I looked it up, Mexico has same sex marriage now too. I was gonna wait till we were down there, but no fucking way am I waiting now,” Ian said quickly.

“Where did you get that ring?” was all Mickey could think to ask at the moment.

“At the Goodwill store, when you were picking out your outfit.” Mickey had sent Ian to look for earrings that either clipped or screwed on, and asked him to find necklaces or bracelets or anything that would make him look like a chick. Ian found all that, plus the ring.

“Who gives up their wedding ring to Goodwill?” Mickey asked.

“Does it matter?” Ian said. “I want it to be yours now.” His big eyes were imploring Mickey. “Mickey, there's so much I still need to say to you, starting with I'm sorry, and when we get the time, I will, but right now I want-no, I _need_ you to know I love you and I want to be with you forever and I don't ever want to be without you again. And I don't want you to have to doubt me ever again,” he finished softly, tears in his eyes again.

Mickey put his hand under Ian's chin. “I know, it's okay, you don't have to...”

“Mickey, I do have to. Please, Mickey. You don't even have to think of it as legal and binding, since it won't be official tonight and since it won't be your real name in Mexico...”

“Ian, I will think of it as binding. I love you too. I broke out of prison because I couldn't stand to be apart from you. I will marry you.”

Ian jumped to his feet and grabbed Mickey. Mickey kissed him, as passionately as he ever did, which was considerable.

“What did you mean about tonight?” Mickey asked, when they finally broke the kiss.

“I want to marry you right now. Here, under the moon and the stars,” Ian said.

Mickey grinned. It was dopey and romantic and if that wasn't the Gallagher he first knew and loved...

“That'll be perfect,” Mickey said, suddenly choked up. “Uh, you start?”

Ian nodded. “Mickey Milkovich, I promise to always love you, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.” He slipped the ring onto Mickey's finger. Mickey let out a surprised little laugh, looking down at it and marveling that it fit.

“Ian Gallagher,” he said, looking up into Ian's eyes, his own suddenly full of happy tears, “I promise to love you, and I'm sorry for all the shit I'm about to drag you into,” Ian made a shushing sound, but Mickey kept talking, “and I will take care of you best I can and you can take care of me, and that's forever.” Ian beamed a big smile at Mickey, the moonlight full on his face and Mickey's breath caught. Ian always was the most beautiful person Mickey had ever seen, and here he was, giving all of himself to Mickey forever.

Mickey threw his head back and yelled to the stars and the universe above them, “I now pronounce us married for life!”

Ian laughed a happy laugh and caught Mickey's face between his hands and kissed him hard. Mickey put his hands up on Ian's wrists and they pressed their foreheads together. “You sure about this, Gallagher? You want to be married to a convict, an escaped convict at that? You sure you ain't drunk?” Mickey asked.

“I ain't drunk. I only had one beer-and I know you don't like me drinking on my meds and now that we're married I promise you I won't do it anymore and you don't even have to nag me about it, but you do have some rights as my husband to do so,” Ian smiled. The beer had bothered Mickey, but after the way they ended things before, Mickey wasn't about to say anything. He had worried about that a lot when he was in prison, about the articles he had read online about alcohol mixing with bipolar meds and being toxic. And in the joint he had even more time to research that shit and even though it only made him feel worse and even more helpless, he couldn't help it.

“I love you knowing what I'm thinking, even after all this time,” Mickey smiled. “And I love you being able to surprise me, too. Come here.”

He pulled Ian to him and kissed him again. There was real heat in this one, from both sides, and they pulled apart for a minute to start taking each other's clothes off. Soon they were naked and the night was warm and they got back on their blanket. Tonight was different from all the other times they had hooked up since Mickey broke out, it was slower, gentler, but for all that no less intense than all the other times they had done this since that first time. Mickey was on his back, his legs spread so Ian could settle between them, his hands in Ian's hair as they kissed. Ian was holding his weight off of Mickey with his hands on the blanket, but soon he rearranged himself so his elbows were holding him up and he could run his hands through Mickey's hair and feel his face as they kissed. Ian pushed himself back up again after a few moments of deep kisses and lowered his head to one of Mickey's nipples. Mickey let out a laugh, knowing Ian was remembering what Mickey had said just that morning as Ian swirled his tongue around one nipple and lifted his hand off the blanket to tweak the other one.

Mickey threw one leg over Ian's back and shook Ian's head gently from side to side. “Ian, come on, I love you, let's do this.”

Ian looked up at him and grinned. “Love you too, Mick.” His hand found his jacket and he dug around till he found their lube. Still just using one hand so he could hold himself up over Mickey with the other, he popped the tube open and even managed to squeeze a dollop out into the palm of his hand.

“Jesus, have you always been such a magician?” Mickey muttered appreciatively. Ian smiled at him as he let the lube warm up in the palm of his hand, and then he finally sat back on his knees to cover the fingers of his other hand with the lube. Mickey was already hard and Ian was more than halfway there. Ian repositioned himself yet again so he could kiss Mickey while he inserted a long finger inside him. Mickey groaned into the kiss and arched up off the blanket. “Ian, you've been in me more than out the past coupla days, don't worry too much about loosening me up,” he breathed, finding Ian's lips again and biting down gently on the bottom one.

Ian added another finger and began stretching Mickey out while their tongues danced and their erections kept seeking contact with the other's body. Mickey was pushing down onto Ian's fingers best he could from his position flat on his back and Ian reached for the lube again.

“Let me, please,” Mickey said, taking the tube from his hand and making a space between them to squirt the lube into his hand and then apply it to Ian's cock. Ian groaned and arched his back now. Mickey had the gentlest hands of anyone he ever knew and it always felt so good to be handled by him.

Mickey gave a few last firm strokes and rubbed his thumb over the tip, then dropped his hands to his sides and pushed his hips up towards Ian. Ian took hold of himself at the base of his cock and slowly pushed into Mickey, his eyes going from Mickey's face to watching himself disappear into Mickey and back again. Mickey's intense blue eyes were almost all black in the moonlight, but they still glowed with love and warmth. Ian was ready to cry.

“I love you so fucking much, Mick.”

“You too,” Mickey said, and then cried out as Ian hit his prostate.

“Right there?” Ian all but whispered, swallowing hard after speaking. Mickey was mesmerized watching his adam's apple bob up and down and a muscle working in his cheek as Ian held himself still.

“Right there. Move, Ian, please.” Ian started rocking into Mickey, Mickey threw his head back and pushed his hips up to meet Ian on every thrust. They knew each other's rhythms and responded to every little gasp and intake of breath. The night was still all around them and they were only aware of each other, feeling each other inside and out, all warm skin and heat and want and love. Mickey grabbed onto Ian's ass, trying to push him in even further, even though he was filled with Ian. Ian picked up the pace of his thrusts, hitting Mickey's prostate and sloppily kissing Mickey anywhere his lips landed: face, neck, collarbone, shoulders, earlobes.

“Mick, I love you, I love you, I'm gonna...” Ian reached between them to stroke Mickey's leaking erection. He wanted Mickey to come first, or at least at the same time.

“I'm close, Ian, keep going, keep going, it's okay, come for me, do it, I'm close,” Mickey was babbling, his eyes closed, his world literally being rocked at its core.

“Mickey...” Ian cried. Mickey opened his eyes and locked eyes with Ian and Ian came hard. He kept pumping into Mickey as he rode out his orgasm, Mickey fiercely whispering his love for Ian over and over. Ian's jizz gave his cock new viscosity and he was nailing Mickey's prostate and he looked so blissed out above Mickey that Mickey came as well. Ian's hand pumped Mickey through his orgasm as Ian's hips lost their rhythm and finally stilled. He gently pulled out of Mickey and Mickey pulled him down into another kiss.

Ian reached for his T shirt and cleaned Mickey up best he could, then curled around Mickey on their blanket, his head resting on his shoulder, his big eyes looking up at Mickey's face. Mickey was letting his hand run through the soft springy hair on Ian's chest.

“This is new, you grew up a lot on me when I was away,” Mickey said in his low after-sex voice that drove Ian wild.

“You like it?” Ian asked, actually sounding a bit worried.

“I love it,” Mickey smiled, his hand never stopping its motion, following the pattern of the hair right down Ian's sternum.

“I had forgotten how soft your skin really is,” Ian told Mickey. “It's the softest thing I ever felt-it's even softer than Debbie's baby's, but then, her skin is pretty dry. I keep telling Debs she has to forego the dollar store baby wash and invest in a name brand.”

“Debbie's what the fuck?” Mickey said, sounding more alert and far less sexy.

“I didn't tell you? Yeah, Debbie had a baby. Fiona's pissed as hell.”

“No baby daddy in the picture, I take it?” Mickey asked.

Ian snorted. “No. And Carl's in military school-wants to be a cop.”

“You're fucking with me...”

“Nope. Lip tried AA, but he's not too good at it, Fiona almost got married but turns out her guy was still shooting up heroin, and Liam's going to private school, Frank finagled some deal,” Ian said, catching Mickey all the way up.

“Christ, I go to jail and the whole family falls apart, huh?” he joked.

“They were never that much together to begin with,” Ian said.

“True.” They were both quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Where's that other blanket?” Mickey said, trying to sit up but failing since Ian wouldn't move his giant head off his shoulder.

“Mickey?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm so glad you're my family. For years now, it's been you-you're the one I could talk to, you're the one who took care of me, you're the one who cared.”

“I feel the same about you,” Mickey said. He moved his shoulder till Ian picked up his head and they could kiss again. Then Ian got up and found the other blanket and they snuggled under it.

Ian trailed his fingers over the tattoo on Mickey's chest. “I still can't believe you did this,” he said. “Did it cause trouble...in there?”

Mickey looked into Ian's eyes. “Nothing I couldn't handle.”

They didn't want to fall asleep, but they did. In the morning they made love again as the sun came up, and then gathered all their stuff and put it in the car and drove into El Paso. Ian used his regular phone to find directions to the Greyhound station. They went in and Ian bought a ticket to Chicago. He was going to have to change buses a few times, but they could sell him the ticket right through to his destination. The ticket clerk told him his bus would probably start boarding in twenty minutes to half an hour.

Ian and Mickey looked at each other sadly. Time was running out too quickly on them.

“Come on,” Mickey said, grabbing Ian's hand and pulling him towards the rest rooms. They went into a stall together and Mickey hung Ian's duffel bag on the hook on the door. Then he pulled off the wig he was wearing and yanked the earrings off his ears and stuffed all that in one of his coat pockets.

“I ain't gonna kiss you goodbye with all that shit on,” he explained to Ian. He peeled off the black lace fingerless gloves he was wearing too-he had been delighted to find those at the Goodwill Store to cover up his tattoos. He took both of Ian's hands in his and looked up at him.

“It's just for a little while, all right? We'll be together again soon,” Mickey said.

Ian swallowed hard and nodded, looking miserable.

“Ian, I love you. I need you. We'll be together.”

“I know, Mick. I love you too. You always find me when I need you.” They kissed, mouths open and putting their all into the kiss, since it had to get them through some lonely weeks ahead.

Mickey dropped Ian's hands and slipped the ring off his finger. He picked up Ian's left hand and slid it onto his ring finger.

“You keep this for me until you can put it back on me where it belongs,” Mickey said, knowing Ian would want and need a romantic gesture at this point, since they were being separated yet again. “You don't have to keep it on, or you can cover it with a band-aid or whatever, but, just, think of me, okay? We're married.”

Ian's eyes were full of tears. “I'll wear it, and I'll think of you every time I look at it, and I'll look at it a lot,” Ian whispered.

“And when you come back to me, I'll get you a ring and you'll put this one back on me,” Mickey said, tears in his eyes as well. Ian nodded. They grabbed each other and hugged, hard.

“I love you so much, Mickey. You have my heart.”

“I loved you long before I knew how to tell you, Ian. Thank you for waiting for me to be able to get there.”

“There should be music here,” Ian sniffed. “And flowers-this is no place to say goodbye for now.”

Mickey shook his head. “Don't need any of that, now that I know you still love me, still want me.”

“Forever,” Ian smiled through his tears.

“Forever,” Mickey agreed. They kissed again, then heard over the loudspeaker that Ian's bus was boarding.

Mickey got his gloves and wig back on. “I'll text you on the burner as soon as I'm over the border and find a spot to pull over, okay?”

Ian nodded. They kissed again, then walked out of the stall, but then Mickey pushed Ian back in and told him he better take advantage of using the facilities before his almost day and a half bus ride. Ian broke into one of his old grins. “You always take such good care of me, Mick.”

An hour into the bus ride, the burner phone buzzed letting Ian know he had a text. It was one word: Safe. Ian sighed. He wished Mickey had been able to call, but they weren't sure how international minutes would work on a burner and they didn't want to use Ian's debit card to try to buy minutes even if they could, so they just prayed texting would work. At some point, Mickey would find a pay phone and a have a whole shitload of change to call the burner to let Ian know where he was, but that might not be for a couple of days, they both understood that.

Ian was so relieved Mickey was safe, and he had had so many sleepless nights the past couple of days, that he fell asleep as the bus made its way north.

When he woke up several hours later, he was stiff and sore and not exactly rested. At least the seat next to him was empty so he wasn't crowded on the side, but there wasn't much leg room for someone as tall as him. He stretched the best he could, and then dug out the burner phone to see if there were any more messages. He wasn't surprised, but he was still disappointed, when there weren't any. He put the burner back into the interior pocket of his winter coat and then got his regular phone out and saw he had no more messages from Trevor, but several from Lip. He read the last text message from Lip and his whole world went cold.

He sat stunned, for how long he didn't know. Then he scrolled through all the texts from Lip, putting together the story from Lip's brief details. A brain hemorrhage, she had been at their house, they all pretty much saw Frank trying to revive her, she was dead. Ian tried to wrap his mind around it, but just couldn't. So he tried to concentrate on something else. He wondered what he should do first. Get home, he finally decided. Shit, he was still so far away from home. But if he got off the bus at the next stop and found a way to an airport, he didn't have money for a plane ticket-probably best just to stay on the bus. He looked at the time, the bus wouldn't get to Chicago for another twenty-four hours. He tried calling Lip, but his phone went to voice mail and Ian hung up, not trusting himself to be able to speak. He texted Lip saying he couldn't be home until the next day, figuring he'd lie if he had to and say he was at work-now didn't seem to be the time to have the Mickey conversation. But he didn't have to lie, Lip merely texted back an OK and said he'd tell Fiona.

The following hours were spent in a fog. Ian didn't even remember later how and when he changed buses. He didn't sleep, he didn't try to text anyone, he just waited to get home. He couldn't even think about Monica yet, not when he was all alone.

By the time he walked into the house the next day, things didn't seem any more real to him. Someone asked him where he had been, he said “work”. No one was really talking about Monica. They dumped a bag of her stuff out on the kitchen table and went through it. Ian picked up a bottle of her pills and looked at the label. It wasn't anything he had ever been prescribed. The bottle seemed full. Everyone went to bed that night without talking about anything to do with Monica. Ian didn't even remember what anyone had said.

The next morning he came downstairs into the kitchen to find Carl was home. He was so happy to see him he picked him up and hugged him, but figured he'd wait to let Carl bring up their mom, if he was going to. Ian felt like he was the only one that wanted to talk about her, but he didn't want to upset anyone else if their way of coping was to not talk about her.

Soon the kitchen was full of his siblings and the Balls and even the guy Debbie was living with. Kev dropped the bombshell he was working at the Fairy Tail and they had a surreal conversation about hand jobs. Then Fiona was asking if anyone would go make funeral arrangements with her. Ian would've gone to do that himself, but he held back from going with Fiona. She was already talking like it'd be an inconvenience to her, and he just didn't want to sit and listen to her callously discuss their mother with a stranger. He begged off, saying he had called out sick to work for the past couple of days, and no one even noticed he was contradicting what he had said the night before. No one had noticed Mickey's ring on his finger either.

He went up to his room, he had never felt so alone in his life. He had decided not to try to reach Mickey on the burner phone when he was on the bus-the last thing Mickey needed right now was to think Ian was in distress. But Ian thought maybe he could just check the burner in case Mickey had sent any kind of update. He had to go back downstairs to get his winter coat, but he scurried back to his room to get the phone out. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached into the inner pocket, but the phone wasn't there. He shook the coat and felt all around it, trying to find the phone. He finally turned the coat inside out and saw the inner pocket had a hole in the bottom. He clutched at the coat in panic. He'd had the fucking thing since high school, no wonder it was worn out, but, shit, that phone was his only way to get in touch with Mickey. He got out his regular cell phone and looked up a number for Greyhound and called and was put through to their customer service. He had changed buses so many times there was no way of knowing which leg of the trip he lost the phone on. They said they'd email him a lost and found claim form and they'd distribute it to all his stops, but the representative didn't hold out too much hope they'd find a nondescript throw away flip phone.

Ian was devastated. Now on top of everything else, if Mickey needed him, he wouldn't know it. He tried to calm himself-Mickey had his number and would call eventually, once he realized Ian couldn't get to the burner anymore. But that might not be for weeks.

Ian decided he'd better deal with his job next. He hadn't called out sick, so maybe he didn't even have a job anymore. He dialed the station and asked for Rita.

“Ian! Are you okay? Well, of course you're not okay, but are you holding up? Is there anything we can do?” Rita asked.

“Uh...” Ian was puzzled. “Rita, um, my mother...”

“I know, Ian. Your brother-Philip, is it?-called yesterday looking for you, and told me your mother had passed. Listen, you get five days paid bereavement leave, plus you can use all the sick and vacation time you need. I already adjusted your time sheet for this week and scheduled your two days off to kick in at the end of the bereavement days. You're not even due to come in here till the middle of next week, and you can call right up to the last minute to tell me if you want to use your other personal time, okay? We're all so sorry, please let us know if there's anything at all you need.”

Ian's head was swimming, taking it all in. 'Thanks, Rita. I appreciate it.”

“Don't even think about this place-take your time to be with your family and loved ones.” They said goodbye and Ian sighed. He was just now realizing there was no way in hell he would've been able to work right then anyway, his concentration was shot.

But now he was sort of at loose ends. He wasn't sure what to do with himself next. He felt like he should check in with his therapist, but he wanted to talk to Mickey first. He'd already decided on the bus before he knew about his mom that he wasn't going to ask his therapist to recommend a Mexican doctor or anything. He knew he was entitled to doctor-patient confidentiality, but Mickey wasn't her patient and that didn't extend to him. For all Ian knew, the doctor would have a legal obligation to talk to the police if Ian told her he had seen Mickey, leaving Ian's name out of it. Ian figured that in the course of his EMT job he could talk to another doctor's office about getting a hypothetical patient's records sent to a doctor in another country. He had time to take care of that, later. When the Monica stuff was...over.

Since he couldn't think what else to do, he decided he owed Trevor an explanation of why he was leaving him. He tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail, so Ian went to Trevor's work. When he got there, Trevor was on the phone, so Ian waited. He was really exhausted and could barely hold himself up. Too late he realized he probably should've tried to sleep some more. But when he was alone his brain was spinning too many thoughts and he felt like he wanted to be around people. But now that he was around people, well, a person, he felt like he wanted to be alone.

When Trevor got off the phone, their conversation didn't go too well. Ian felt like he was a step behind the whole way.

Ian said, “My mom died.” It struck him in that moment that that was the first time he had said it aloud, the first time he told anyone it had happened.

Trevor looked surprised. “Shit. How?” Ian briefly thought to himself, “does it matter-dead is dead,” but told him anyway.

“Brain hemorrhage. Last night.” Or two nights ago, or a lifetime ago, Ian was already losing track of time.

“I'm sorry,” Trevor said.

“Thanks,” Ian said, having no idea what to say.

“I've been texting you the past couple days, where you been?” Trevor asked, suddenly changing topics and throwing Ian completely off balance again, not that he was too steady to begin with.

Ian felt like Trevor would've have guessed, so he told him the truth. “I was with Mickey.”

Trevor nodded.

“Wanna grab a drink later, maybe get some food?” Ian said, and what he meant by it was, “You want to talk about it? Have your chance at ripping me a new one for all this?” but he was too tired and beat up to convey that he meant to be giving Trevor his time to adjust to things, to break up properly, whatever.

“I can't. I have a date.” Ian nodded. He somehow wasn't surprised Trevor hadn't waited around for him to come back. If Ian had had a valid passport, he wouldn't even be here now.

“Hey, Trevor?” Ian said, as Trevor was marching past him to go out to do something for his job. “I'm sorry.” Ian knew that was lame, but he never meant to hurt Trevor, if he even had. He certainly hadn't meant to use him or anything, but looking back, that's all he had done-used Trevor to not be quite so lonely for a while.

Trevor ignored the apology and said, “Let me know when your mother's service is, okay? She was fucked up, but I kinda liked her.” Ian couldn't help but feel that Trevor was actually saying that about him, even though Trevor didn't know he was bipolar too. Trevor left and Ian decided to go home and sleep.

He took his pills when he got home and slept till the next morning when the sound of his phone woke him. He scrambled for it and the screen said “Unknown Caller”. He answered without thinking, saying, “Mickey?” in an overwrought voice.

“Yes it's me, but Jesus! What if it had been the cops?” Mickey growled. “Ian, where the fuck have you been? I was trying the burner half the night, and when you didn't answer I called your cell about a million times.”

“Mick, Moni...my mom died.”

Mickey's voice was instantly gentle. “Oh, Christ, Ian. I'm so sorry. You okay?”

Tears were pouring down Ian's face. “I...yeah, I will be. Mickey, I'm sorry, I lost the phone and didn't know it till I got home, my coat pocket had a hole...” Ian's words were coming out in a rush. Mickey hushed him.

“Ian, it's all right. I figured it was something like that. Hey, it's okay, it's okay. I wasn't planning to call so soon anyway, but I missed ya.”

Ian smiled for the first time in days. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Fuck, Ian, I hate that I'm so far away right now.”

“It's okay, Mickey. Some things we can't control.” Ian sighed.

“Yeah.” An operator came on and said something in rapid Spanish, then switched to English and said something about depositing more money for three more minutes. Ian didn't understand the denominations and Mickey didn't really either, but he pumped a bunch of coins into the pay phone he was using to have a few more precious seconds with Ian.

“Hey, I'm sorry, I gotta go, I just used all the change I had, but, Ian...I love you.”

“Love you too, Mickey,” Ian said, trying not to sob. He didn't want Mickey worrying about him, but he could practically hear Mickey biting on his lower lip over the phone.

“I'll call you again, okay? Um, is the funeral...” Mickey left the question unasked, wondering too late if they'd even have a funeral for Monica.

“I don't know when it is yet. Fiona was making arrangements yesterday, but I've been sleeping,” Ian said.

“Okay, sleeping is good, you need your sleep. Um, I'll call soon, tomorrow sometime, okay?”

“Okay, Mickey.”

“I love you, Ian.”

“I love you too,” Ian said.

The next morning when Mickey called, Ian was able to tell him the funeral was scheduled for that afternoon.

“Fiona wanted to get it over with as soon as possible,” Ian said listlessly.

Mickey thought that was a cunty way for her to put it, but didn't say anything to Ian about it. His disgust was with Fiona, not Ian. Mickey worried no one was mourning Monica except Ian, isolating him in his grief like they did with pretty much everything else in Ian's life.

They talked for a few minutes. An operator broke in again but this time only spoke in English and told Mickey how much to pay for more time, but Ian barely noticed. He was dreading the funeral, dreading seeing Trevor there-he had texted him the details and immediately wondered after he had sent them why he had bothered-and just wished none of this was happening. He wished Monica wasn't dead. Mickey again reassured Ian of his love before they hung up, and then Ian had to face the day.

The funeral went by in a blur. Fiona just assumed Ian wanted to sit with Trevor and sort of pushed him into the seat at the end of the row next to him. Ian thought he should be with Debbie and Carl in case they were feeling sad, but he was too tired to make a thing out of it. They all got up and said a few words, but Ian didn't remember any of them the minute after they were spoken.

After the service everyone but Trevor went back to the house and it was like a switch had been flipped for all of them-they were just relieved it was over, even Frank. Everyone started drinking and dancing. Well, Ian guessed Lip wasn't drinking, or Carl and Debbie, but all the “adults” were. Ian took a beer so no one would pester him, but he didn't drink it. He stood on the outskirts of the “party” and felt so far removed from everyone else. He snuck off up to his room once Fiona agreed to dance with Frank and wasn't surprised no one even noticed.

He laid down on his bed and rolled towards the wall, his back to the door, and listening to the loud music and louder voices from downstairs he finally let his grief wash over him and he began to cry-hard. He thought about his mother and how tough she had it, and how she tried when she could, even though most times she wound up fucking things up far more than she ever helped.

It was already full dark and he hadn't bothered turning on a light. Suddenly the wall he was facing was illuminated with a rectangle of light from the hallway, someone had quietly opened the door to his room. He didn't want anyone trying to drag him back down to the party, so he stayed very still and hoped whoever it was would think he was asleep.

“Hey,” a soft voice said. “Sorry I'm late.”

Ian rolled over fast. “Mickey?”

Sure enough, standing there in the flesh, in his dress and high heels and wig, was Mickey Milkovich.

“How...how did you get here?” Ian choked out in disbelief.

“Hitched a ride with a long haul trucker. He broke all kinds of laws driving almost straight through-he even let me drive on the most unpopulated stretches of highways,” Mickey said.

Ian got off the bed and wrapped Mickey into a hug, kissing him all the while.

“Mickey, I need you,” Ian murmured, shucking out of his black skinny jeans and pulling Mickey's tights down, pretty much destroying them in the process. Mickey kicked his boots off and got the tights and underwear he had on all the way off, and Ian did the same with his shoes and pants and briefs. He pushed Mickey down on his bed and got the lube from his bedside drawer, but didn't take much time prepping Mickey before he was bucking into him.

“I love you, I need you, I love you,” Ian chanted over and over, his voice nearly hysterical but quiet, urgent. He came quickly and pulled out. Mickey's dress was hiked up all around his middle and Ian still had his black sweater on.

“Aw, shit, Mickey, I'm sorry,” Ian said, tears threatening to overtake him again. “You didn't even...let me, here.” Ian took Mickey's flaccid cock into his hand and half-halfheartedly began stroking it. Mickey put his hand over Ian's to stop him.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. It's not about that, right now. I know. You just needed to feel connected, to feel alive. Shhh, Ian, it's okay, it's okay. I don't need to get off.”

Ian fell onto the bed next to Mickey and burst into tears into the pillow. Mickey gently stroked his hair, letting him cry it out.

Ian's sobs eventually slowed, and finally stopped. He looked up at Mickey in the low light shining through his window from a streetlight outside. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Mickey took the corner of the bed sheet and dried Ian's cheeks. “Hey, nothing to be sorry about-your mom just died, Ian. You're entitled to cry. How about we get out of these clothes? You got any boxers I can borrow?”

“How...how long can you stay?” Ian hiccuped.

Mickey looked at him sadly. “Think I better sneak out of here while it's still dark. My new trucker buddy is gonna meet me at a truck stop right outside of town, he's headed back to Tex-Mex at first light.”

Ian nodded. Mickey got up off the bed and Ian followed suit. He went to his dresser while Mickey was pulling the dress off over his head and dug out boxers for each of them. He handed Mickey his and then bent down to pick up Mickey's tights off the floor. He turned on the light on top of the dresser and inspected them. “These are done for,” he observed. “Let me see if Fiona has some I can steal.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow while he was pulling up his borrowed shorts. “You think your sister and I are the same size?”

“I think with these things it's a one size fits all deal,” Ian said. He put on his boxers and quietly snuck out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He was back in under a minute, black tights balled up in his hand. He put them on top of the dresser and put Mickey's underwear from the floor on top of them.

Ian pulled his sweater and the t shirt he had on underneath off and walked back over to Mickey. Mickey opened his arms and Ian walked right into the hug. He needed it.

“Get under the covers, it's cold,” Mickey said. Ian did so and Mickey walked to the dresser and shut the light off, then joined Ian in the bed.

“This double bed's nice,” Mickey said, back to stroking Ian's hair gently. “I walked into your old room first-lucky for me no one was in there.”

“How did you know I was upstairs?”

“I cased the place from the windows like a creep,” Mickey laughed quietly. “Saw everyone but you downstairs and figured this is where I'd find you.”

“I'm glad you did,” Ian whispered.

“Me too,” Mickey replied, kissing his forehead.

“Mick...no one's even talking about her,” Ian said, his voice hitching. “She's the reason we're all here, alive, because she had us. She's the _only_ reason I'm connected to them!”

Mickey nodded, wishing there was something he could say or do to make Ian's family take notice of his pain at least this one time. But Christ, if their mother dying didn't do it, what could?

Ian scooted closer to Mickey and wrapped his arms around his waist and Mickey moved onto his back more so Ian could rest his head on Mickey's chest.

“You can talk to me about her-if you want,” Mickey told him. “I've always wondered about the person that made you, but there never seemed a good time to bring her up.”

Ian was quiet for a minute.

“Or, you don't have to talk about her,” Mickey said. “We can talk about something else, or not talk, whatever you want. You want to sleep, maybe?”

“No. I want to talk about her, I'm just trying to think where to begin. The last time I saw her...I fought with her, Mickey. I yelled at her and walked away from her and then I never saw her again...and I never will.” Ian's tears started again, Mickey felt them on his chest. Mickey just held Ian, he didn't tell him it would be all right, because he knew what that was like. It wasn't all right when his mother died either. It was just something he learned to carry with him. He felt Ian would probably find a way to do that too, but he didn't need to hear right now that it probably wouldn't ever go away.

This time Ian grabbed the sheet and wiped his eyes, and he tried to dry off Mickey as best he could too. He was quiet for a while, but then he started talking again, telling Mickey about a time when she was pretty lucid and had brought him to a park and let him feed some ducks. From there he told Mickey everything he could ever remember about his mother, good and bad, and knew Mickey would understand when he talked about the times she couldn't get out of bed, or when she was convinced a meter reader from the electric company was at the house to steal her children. He told Mickey that Monica even knew about him, from their early days, and how she called him “the boy from the store”.

He talked till he couldn't talk anymore, and then he asked Mickey what Mexico was like. Mickey talked it up even though in reality he hadn't seen much yet. He had ditched the stolen car and had used five hundred dollars of Ian's savings to buy a sweet if very used and battered El Camino. “It's waiting for me just over the border. I'll get in it and drive towards the beach when I get back down there, find us a place,” Mickey told him.

Ian smiled and looked at the ring on his hand that was now resting on Mickey's chest.

“I didn't start the paperwork for the passport yet, but I can do that tomorrow,” Ian said, yawning. Mickey smiled. Ian having a plan to do anything next was an excellent sign.

“I was telling my trucker buddy about that, about how you'd be joining me when you got a passport, and he said for a little extra money, you can get it done rush...why don't you do that-uh, if you still want to come...maybe you need more time with your family?”

Ian pushed himself up and looked at Mickey like he was nuts. “Mick, you are my family. I need you, not that bunch downstairs.”

Mickey lowered his eyes and then looked back up. After all this time, and even after Ian proposing and being willing to run away with him, he just couldn't believe he was the center of Ian's world just like Ian had been the center of his since the day he broke into Mickey's room and showed him the impossible was possible back when they were just dumb kids.

“I love you, Ian.”

“I love you too, Mickey, and I want to tell you so every day for the rest of our lives.”

 

 

The next morning Frank sat down at the breakfast table with all his biological children-Ian had gone to work (he said) hours before Frank's late rising.

“How fucking drunk did you kids let me get last night?” Frank asked the table at large. “I must've been blitzed out of my mind-I thought I saw a hot chick with really nice legs sneaking out of Ian's room when I got up to take a piss in the middle of the night.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, screw you, Shameless writers! No way would Ian be all, "waah waah, this isn't me anymore" AGAIN to the man who he had just spent two days having the best sex of his adult life with! 
> 
> This was my attempt at a fix it-maybe as time goes by I'll write even more, different versions. What the show gave us just can't be it, and my mind is going to keep dreaming up ways to reunite Mickey and Ian, I just know it.


End file.
